Inedible Rock Scones

This really is as bad as it sounds. I thought I would be creative. Last night I Googled something along the lines of “the chemistry of biscuits” thinking that if I figured out the basic ratios I could just wing it and make an edible biscuit out of what we had in the cupboard (the main problem at the moment being that we don’t have any nice, soft, brown sugar).

I didn’t find what I was looking for in my Google search and was too tired to really understand what I did find. Today I thought “fuck it” and just threw some things in a bowl. I wrote down what I was doing in case my biscuits/cookies turned out to be so wonderful that I could share the recipe with other people.

They didn’t. They weren’t even edible. Instead of not wasting food by turning it into delicious cookies, I threw away perfectly good food in the form of inedible rock scones. I used: flour, oats, two eggs, honey, golden syrup, the remnants of the bag of raisins and apricots M halfheartedly ate before spitting apricot all around the room in a flap that it tasted funny, vanilla flavouring, and baking powder.

I mixed everything together and patted the dough into promising little balls that seemed the right consistency for something at least. I wasn’t going for gourmet. Just edible.

As I put them in the oven I had the horrible thought that I hadn’t added any oil – no butter, no nothing – to the mix. Oh well, they were on the baking tray now, and surely they would turn into something edible (I was going on the basis of one of A Girl Called Jack’s recipes – but then she did use oil).

M was excited when they emerged from the oven. He said “mmm… this is nice” as he ate it.

I tried mine. “It’s not nice though is it? It is quite horrible really” I said as I got the sickly taste of golden syrup and a slight burning that I assume was the baking powder, in the consistency of a scone-come-rock-cake.

“No, no it’s not really very nice” he conceded. “Maybe we can buy some chocolate and make some chocolate chip cookies?” he asked hopefully.

Yes. Maybe we can. And this time we will follow a recipe. Mary Berry I ain’t.


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Burnt Supper

British/American, postgraduate, wife, mother, dog-owner

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